


The Scent of the Waves

by AlyKat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Getting Together, Insecure Phil, M/M, Oblivious Phil Coulson, Pre-Slash, Sneaky Nick Fury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being undercover as a newly engaged couple is hard enough. It's even harder when you're Phil Coulson and hopelessly in love with your partner to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scent of the Waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladytian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladytian/gifts).



> Big thank you to featheredschist for doing an awesome job beta-ing this for me. And a happy birthday to my birthday twin, theladytian! Hope you enjoy it!!

Phil was fairly certain he’d done something in a past life to piss Nick Fury off. He had to have.  It was the only explanation for why he was in the mess he was currently in. Okay, so, it wasn’t really a _mess_ per se, but it felt like it was. And really, how else would you describe being on a freaking undercover mission in Florida with _Clint Barton_? Of all people, Fury paired him with Clinton F. Barton. This was why Phil was sure he’d pissed Fury off in a past life. It was the worst sort of torture to be had! Undercover ops weren’t exactly Clint’s forte’; in fact, acting in general wasn’t one of Clint’s strong points. And if any of that wasn’t bad enough?

Their cover was as a _newly engaged couple_.

Which was exactly how and why the two of them were wandering around an overcrowded wedding expo, holding hands and smiling at people. Well, maybe it did. It probably didn’t. They ended up there because of two reasons, one) Fury had a sick sense of humor, the bastard; and two) someway, somehow, Clint and Phil were the best suited for the job. Phil had tried to ask what that meant, but all he got was a smirk from Fury and two cover identities.

Phil was Peter Hargrove, 45-ish and independently wealthy. He’d made a killing in the stock market at a young age and now mostly held a job as a landscape architect just to keep busy during the day. He was quiet and reserved, and everything Phil was on the inside that he couldn’t let through in his daily life. Over all, the cover wasn’t terribly difficult for Phil to follow through on. It was dropping the age old cool, confident and calm persona that had become widely revered through SHIELD as the Agent Coulson who could kill a man with a paper clip, a piece of gum, and his pinky, that was the main problem. It was hard to pretend to be something more than what you were for twenty-some years, but it was even harder to suddenly have to let that go where people could see you.

Clint, on the other hand, didn’t have to work much at his new identity at all. Casper Penbrook, as Clint was being called now, was every bit of Clint. From his outgoing personality, to his charm and ability to make anyone blush and sway under his smile and winks. It was ridiculous. And it was made even more so by the way Clint -- _Casper_ \-- kept hanging off Phil like he was some kind of security blanket or something.

Why was this even Phil’s life?

 _How_ was this even his life?

It would have been one thing if Phil at least stood a chance with Clint, but he didn’t. Not even a long shot chance. Clint was gorgeous and charismatic and a flirt to anything on two legs -- especially if they were young and beautiful, two things Phil most certainly wasn’t.

So, yes. This operation was a mess, and Phil was going to have to write a very strongly worded letter to Fury when they finally got back to base. Providing Phil survived the mission to begin with. They were only two days in, and so far hadn’t needed to act _too_ ridiculously gushy over each other, but there were still three days of the expo left to go. And they needed to find the bastards who were luring couples in and disappearing with them.

According to their intel, the expo had been traveling across the US for two months now, always the same vendors, and in every stop, at least a dozen couples had gone missing. Sometimes less, sometimes more, but on average it was a dozen.

“Oh, _Peter_!” Clint exclaimed, snapping Phil out of his thoughts and pulling him to a stop in front of a booth advertising tropical honeymoon getaways. “ _Look_ at these places! I know you promised me Aruba, but couldn’t we maybe look somewhere else?”

Oh, and did Phil mention he had a feeling he was supposed to be Clint’s “sugar daddy”? Because he really had the feeling that was how this was supposed to be, given the fact Fury pegged him with the older, stupidly rich, role. Which was really just uncalled for. Even if it was maybe kind of partly...okay, so it was almost completely true! Phil was kind of a lot loaded, but no one knew that and he wanted to keep it that way! And this freaking identity just hit way too close to home for comfort!

Phil swallowed thickly when Clint turned his bright blue-green eyes on Phil. Damn those eyes. They were practically the stones from mood rings, the way they changed colors all the time.

Pressing his lips into a tight, thin line, Phil looked at all the pictures hanging up, then to the two women standing behind the table smiling pleasantly at them. He reached up to adjust his glasses, which held facial recognition software in the lenses that would scan and send up a red flag back at base if the people pinged anywhere on SHIELD’s radar. These two women seemed to check out.

“Cas,” Phil chided softly, arm slipping around Clint’s waist. “We’ve already booked Aruba. I’ll take you somewhere nice and tropical for Christmas.”

Clint pouted, shaking his head sadly. “But, you promised me Christmas in the Hamptons with your family.”

Phil had to fight the urge to reach up and rub the bridge of his nose. God save him before he threw himself in front of a bus. Or into the middle of a bridal gown sale.

“We can do both. Now, come on, _sweetie_.” Phil pulled at Clint’s side again and flashed an apologetic smile to the women as he started to tug them back out into the main aisle they’d been walking down.

Taking a deep breath, Phil leaned in against Clint’s side, making it look like he was murmuring sweetly into Clint’s ear. “Aruba? The Hamptons? Really, Barton?”

Clint chuckled and shrugged, but kept his smile small as he answered, “What? Aruba’s tropical, isn’t it? Besides, how do we know they weren’t the ones we’re looking for?”

“Because, they checked out. If they didn’t, SHIELD would have said something.” Phil pulled back and dropped his arm from around Clint’s waist. Two full days of acting lovey-dovey was enough to drive Phil up the wall. And it was even worse whenever Clint was the one to initiate contact between them.

Like grabbing Phil’s hand after it dropped from Clint’s hip.

With a tired sigh, and a tension headache building between his shoulders and neck, Phil gave Clint’s hand a squeeze to get his attention. “Come on, I don’t think we’re going to find anything more tonight.”

They’d been on their feet, wandering the expo non-stop since it opened that morning. Ten hours of near constant walking was wearing on Phil, and he suspected he’d heard Clint’s stomach grumbled not all that long ago. They were going to need to get dinner soon, and then get back to their hotel room so Phil could check in with Fury directly.

Clint wrapped himself around Phil’s arm and leaned into his side, brushing a quick kiss across Phil’s cheek before he nuzzled Phil’s ear. Fury was going to have to die. There was no avoiding it.

“We’ll be back first thing tomorrow anyway,” Clint batted his eyes and smiled at Phil like a smitten puppy. It was enough to make Phil’s stomach tie up in a million knots. Yeah, Fury was definitely going to have to die. “I want to get back to the hotel, order room service and get some alone time with my favorite person in the whole wide world.”

In his head, Phil was counting the different painful ways he could make Fury disappear. Each one more creative than the last.

~*~*~*~

It wasn’t as if the mission weren’t torture enough on its own. Oh no. No, no, no. Fury had to make it worse by the accommodations he’d made for them. The expo itself was only a few blocks from the beach, but the hotel? The hotel was right on the beach. And their room had the most perfect, unobstructed view in the entire place. The lights from the city were only a faint glow, and nothing compared to the bright moonlight that would drift in through the window, carried in on the back of the warm ocean breeze. And that was just in the main sitting room.

In fact, their suite -- not just a regular room, no, the assignment called for the suite -- was probably the best in the hotel. Top floor, corner unit with the spectacular views. Four windows dominated the suite: one large, sliding glass window in the sitting room, that sat a good two or three feet from the floor and stretched to just a foot under the ceiling; a long, narrow fixed window in the ensuite bath hanging just above the two person jacuzzi tub, providing just enough light to make it feel more open, but not big enough to be privacy risk; and the two in the bedroom that didn’t qualify as merely windows. It was a wall and a half of glass, the majority of it behind the king sized, four poster bed. Part of it, a small space between the bathroom wall and the giant window wall was another near floor to ceiling sliding glass door that let out onto a private balcony.

Realistically, there was no reason for such a fancy room for this cover. A more modest room with two queen beds should have been plenty, but yet, there they were. Having to share a bedroom, and one very, very comfortable king sized bed.

Phil dropped the room key down on the coffee table in the main sitting room, and started for the bedroom while Clint dropped himself down on the couch. The flat screen TV to Phil’s right flashed on as he walked past it and into the bedroom to change clothes and possibly go take advantage of that jacuzzi tub. It might help get the tension out of his shoulders.

“Hey Coulson,” Clint called from the sitting room. “What are we doing about dinner tonight? I’m thinking room service sounds awesome, but there was that boardwalk just down the beach. If you feel up to some more walking.”

Just the thought of more walking had Phil’s eye twitching. He grabbed up a pair of clothes from the chest of drawers and stepped back into the doorway. Clint was still sprawled out on the couch, one arm under his head to keep it propped up so he could look at Phil.

“You are more than welcome to go down to the boardwalk, Barton.” Phil said, leaning against the door frame, his clothes held against his chest. “But I’m going to take a shower, possibly order up some breadsticks or something, touch base Fury and then I’m going to bed.”

Clint blinked at that and for the briefest moments Phil thought he saw disappointment flash across Clint’s face. Phil shook it off as his headache playing tricks on him.

“Room service it is, then,” Answered Clint and he rolled himself gracefully off the couch to grab up the menu and the room phone. “Go get cleaned up, I’ll order us something.”

Phil watched Clint for a second longer. He almost wanted to tell Clint to put the phone down and give him a minute to get his shoes back on so they could go, but he didn’t. Instead, he slipped back into the bedroom, and then into the adjoining bathroom, and shut the door behind him.

The jacuzzi tub looked amazing and Phil was really very tempted to use it. There was plenty of space in it, he could have stretched out and leaned his head back to relax for a little while; except, it was specifically designed for two people, and Phil would be reminded of that every minute he sat there, looking at the empty space across from him.

Sighing heavily, Phil set his sleep clothes down on the sink and stripped to shower instead. Which was nice too, but not nearly as nice as the jacuzzi probably would have been. But at least in the shower Phil could stick his head under the water and drowned out his own thoughts for a few minutes. Plus, he could usually take care of any particularly bothersome issues that were plaguing him all day, while under the spray. All those pesky thoughts of blue-green eyes changing colors in certain lighting or moods. A bright smile that would light up a certain archer’s whole face and make him scrunch his nose in the most adorable way. Not to mention, the solid warmth pressed up against him all day long as they walked. And a thumb that had somehow managed to find its way under Phil’s pale heather polo shirt and rubbed at his side -- skin to skin -- at random points during the day.

Phil allowed himself to think about how nice it would be to have the full hand on his side, gripping at his hips to keep him still, while a warm, slick mouth sucked him so hard it nearly drove him mad. He thought about a smooth voice gasping, moaning, and pleading in Phil’s ear, begging Phil to come so _he_ could come.

Gasping against his arm as he leaned against the wall of the shower, Phil closed his eyes and gave himself a couple more slow strokes until he caught his breath again. God, he felt so disgusted with himself, getting himself off on thoughts of the man just on the other side of the wall from him. The man he knew he didn’t stand an ice cube’s chance in hell with. Still, he couldn’t help but wish and try not to feel too much guilt over what he did. Besides, wasn’t like Clint didn’t take care of matters, too. Just that morning Phil woke up to hear a grunted and strangled out ‘ _Oh Fuck!_ ’ from the bathroom, just barely audible over the sounds of the shower.

So really, Phil shouldn’t feel guilty at all. Because he was only human, and he had every bit the right to take care of a hard on as the next guy. He just wouldn’t let himself dwell on the fact he got his rocks off to thoughts of Clint.

Stepping out of the shower and drying himself off, Phil quickly dressed in his comfortable sleep clothes: a pair of navy pajama pants and his old Army T-shirt. When he lifted his eyes to the mirror above the spacious double sink (and really, what did they need a double sink for? They didn’t share the bathroom at the same time!), Phil was reminded of just how out of his league Clint was. Sure Phil had muscle, but it was subtle, and mostly hidden under the inevitable few extra pounds he’d put on in recent years. And with his hair wet it was even more painfully obvious just how far back his hairline was getting, and just how thin his already flyaway hair had become.

Phil grumbled at himself and quickly smoothed his hair down, turned the light off, and left the bathroom. He was too old to be so self-conscious about how he looked. Especially since it didn’t matter, anyway. So why bother?

Of course, that didn’t stop him from stalling for time heading back out into the living room. He needed to update Fury, after all. And check his email -- both work and personal, neither held anything exciting, though his personal one did remind him his Netflix subscription was going to be taken out of his account soon, so that was kind of important to know about. Then, because he liked to be prepared, Phil did a check of the weather for the rest of the night and the next day. So he knew how to dress, obviously. It was only after he ran out of plausible ways to kill time that he finally ventured out into the living room.

Just as Clint was shutting the door on room service and bringing their trays to the small coffee table.

“I ordered you the pork chop dinner,” Clint explained, not even glancing up as he set the trays down. “It said it came with some kind of berry extract sauce or something on top? I dunno. I saw pork chop, green beans, and German potato salad and figured you’d approve.”

Phil’s stomach grumbled, and of course, that was what got Clint to look up and grin at him like an adorable dork.

“I guess you do approve,” laughed Clint as he settled down at his own plate of steak, loaded baked potato, and carrots.

They ate through their meal in relative silence, only the rerun of _Friends_ playing on the TV, and the gentle crush of waves on the beach for background noise. It wasn’t uncomfortable though; they’d been on too many missions together through the years for it to be uncomfortable. Instead, it was nice and familiar and a nice way to ground himself after a long day of playing an engaged couple.

Once they were about half-way finished, Phil finally broke their silence.

“We should try to get there at the opening again tomorrow morning,” He said, popping his last green bean in his mouth and savoring the taste for a moment. Butter, sea salt, hints of pepper, and the crispness he’d expect from fresh vegetables. This was definitely better than his original plans for dinner.

On the couch, Clint took a deep drink from his bottle of beer and set it back on the tray. “What if we got there later in the day though?” He asked, leaning forward to start digging in on his baked potato -- Clint always saved it for last. “I mean, we got there right at the get go yesterday and today, and didn’t see a damn thing out of place. What if they wait until later in the day to start nabbing people? Be easier to do, wouldn’t it?”

Clint had a point, Phil wasn’t going to deny that. The one thing he’d learned through the years of working with Clint was to listen to him, because more times than not, the man was right when it came to mission aspects. And, Phil had to admit, the idea of sleeping in a little bit, maybe getting some time in down at the gym or the pool, before needing to head out did sound nice.

Nodding in agreement, Phil cut up the last few pieces of his pork chop. “Alright, we’ll give it a shot. We’ll head over around eleven, then. The midday rush should be just starting, and we can stay until closing.”

“And then hit the boardwalk for dinner?” Clint asked, only barely glancing up from his potato.

Phil huffed a half laugh and nodded. “I don’t know what your fascination is with going to the boardwalk to eat, but, yeah. Alright. We’ll go to the boardwalk for dinner.”

The brightness that lit up Clint’s face made Phil’s chest catch. Whatever disasters eating questionable food from festival booth like establishments was probably going to be worth it just to see that bright, happy look all over Clint’s face.

~*~*~*~

“Hey, Coulson?” Clint asked, voice barely more than a whisper in the darkness of their shared bedroom.

Phil was lying on his side, blinking out the opened glass doors, watching the moonlight play on the waves. Clint liked having the fresh air and sound of the waves at night. Phil remembered that from their first mission where they spent time near a beach.

“Hmm?” Phil hummed back in reply. They’d only been laying in bed a few minutes, but already Phil was slowly starting to drift off.  

Silence followed for a beat, before, “Where would you go?”

Phil blinked twice and twisted to look over his shoulder at Clint. Or, Clint’s back, rather. “Did I miss the rest of that question, or…?”

“Your honeymoon,” Clint rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. One arm was draped over his stomach, the other tucked under his head, and Phil tried to ignore the way Clint’s T-shirt stretched across his chest. “Where would you go, if you ever had one?”

The left field question threw Phil for a second and he just stared out in front of him before his brain finally caught up and he could come up with an answer. “I don’t know, Barton. I’ve never really given it much thought.”

Clint shifted on the mattress and sighed heavily. “There’s gotta be someplace you’d go, though.”

Thinking for a second or two, Phil shook his head and rolled his face back down towards his pillow. Marriage was a moot point in SHIELD. It was a dream he’d never given serious thought to before he joined up -- he was recruited right out of high school, and in the early eighties marriage for a gay man was certainly not an option -- and it was one he’d given up in order to be a SHIELD agent.

“Greece, I suppose,” Phil finally answered as he closed his eyes. “The Mediterranean, at least.”

Across the bed, Clint gave a quiet hum. He shifted and Phil dared to steal another glance over his shoulder. Clint had rolled onto his side again, this time facing Phil, and was slightly curled in on himself. There was a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered softly across his cheeks. He was relaxed and at peace, a sure sign that he was finally about to drift off to sleep.

Letting himself watch for another second or two, Phil finally settled back down into his own pillow to stare out over the water again. His own smile was fond, but weak, as he heard Clint’s gentle exhale.

“Yeah,” Clint murmured, words slurred from sleep. “Greece’s’always nice…”

Phil didn’t bother to respond.

~*~*~*~

Despite getting permission to sleep in, Phil was still awake and moving by six the next morning. For him, that pretty much was sleeping in. He left Clint asleep in bed, the archer all tangled up in the blankets and half lying off the side, and made his way down to the small gym attached to the pool room.

He managed to get a couple miles in on the treadmill, but put off doing any weight lifting. He preferred to use the weight room at SHIELD, anyway, and plus, he had a spotter at SHIELD. Phil wasn’t going to focus on the fact his spotter at SHIELD was the same person he’d just left sleeping alone in their room. It just so happened that Clint tended to be in the weight room around the same time as Phil, and would offer to help him once he’d finished his own workout. That’s all.

When he finally returned to the room, after a few laps around the pool, Phil honestly expected Clint to still be asleep. It was only quarter to eight, by all rights Clint _should_ have still been sleeping, not sprawled out on the couch again, empty plate from breakfast sitting on the coffee table beside him. If he’d known Clint was going to be awake, Phil would have changed back into his workout clothes, instead of coming up to the room in still dripping swim trunks and a towel over his bare shoulders.

Clint sat up quickly when Phil stepped into the room, his eyes wide and an unreadable expression all over his face. Phil never wanted to hide so much in his adult life. The last time he felt so self-conscious had been in high school, when he’d been nothing more than a gangly mess of bones and not much else. Having Clint suddenly stare at him like he was, was enough to make Phil feel like that awkward sixteen year old all over again.

Even more when Clint finally burst out laughing.

Phil squared his jaw and pulled his shoulders back as he headed for the bedroom. He didn’t need to be reminded of all the things wrong with him.

“Something funny, Agent Barton?” He asked, disappearing into the other room to find dry clothes.

He could still hear Clint’s chuckles coming from the living room.

“Angry baby duck!” laughed Clint, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

Phil blinked and turned, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Apparently his confusion was funny enough to make Clint nearly double over laughing again. Phil sighed heavily and shook his head. He did not need this today, and it certainly wasn’t how he planned to start his morning off.

Clint shook his head and raised a hand to get Phil to stop before he moved into the bathroom. “N-Natasha. She told me once that she’d seen you after you’d gotten done swimming one time, before you had a chance to flatten your hair back down. She said that it looked like a little angry baby duck! And she was right!”

Phil stopped in his tracks and blinked. He honestly didn’t know whether to be offended by that or not. He’d never heard anyone describe his sad, wispy hair in that way before. Best course of action? Apply bland Agent Coulson mask and slip into the bathroom without a word. It was the only way to escape without letting his confusion (and maybe just a bit of hurt feelings) show.

~*~*~*~

For the rest of the day, Phil would occasionally reach up to make sure his hair wasn’t doing anything ridiculous. It wasn’t like him to become so distracted by things not related to the mission, and yet, any time they passed a mirrored surface, he’d have to check just to be sure. And on top of that distraction, Phil also had to deal with Clint being back to the tactile, beaming fiancé.

Even while they were seemingly alone or out of sight of people, Clint had a hand on Phil’s arm or shoulder, or his knee pressed to Phil’s. Anything to have some kind of contact with him the entire day. Phil wasn’t going to object, really, but it was far too easy to get comfortable with those light touches and he knew in the end he was just setting himself up for heartache. The mission would be over soon enough, and when it was, they’d go back to being just Barton and Coulson again. Friends? Sure. But mostly they’d just be handler/specialist again.

Still, Phil was a professional. He could get through this mission. Even if playing like they were a happy, tactile, excited engaged couple was dragging him through an emotional and mental hell. Phil would get through it.

They made their way back through the aisles, pausing at various booths that seemed to be attracting the most attention, and walking away again when there was no word from SHIELD. Every once in a while, Clint would pull Phil off towards a booth that boast they had free samples of something, usually a food of some kind. Some of it wasn’t terrible, and Phil had to admit the chocolate fountain did look amazing.

They stood there watching it for a minute before Clint grabbed a small stick with a white fluffy marshmallow on the end, swirled it in the chocolate flow and stepped back again. Phil tried not to swallow his tongue when Clint held the stick, liquid chocolate dripping off the marshmallow, out for him to taste. And he definitely didn’t half choke on the damn thing when Clint’s eyes darted to the drop of chocolate at the corner of Phil’s mouth. Clint brushed his warm, calloused thumb across Phil’s lips, swiping it away. Damn if Phil didn’t stand there staring like a creepy old pervert as Clint licked his fingers clean.

The woman across the table from them giggled -- a real, honest giggle -- and beamed at them when they both turned to face her. Her smile stretched from one ear all the way to the other as she handed Clint a wet towelette, and a pamphlet to Phil.

“You two,” she cooed, “are so adorable! Already in the honeymoon phase!”

Phil’s eyes went wide as saucers and Clint quickly coughed and ducked his head.

Whoever she was, she didn’t acknowledge either of their surprise as she leaned across the table to stage whisper at them. “Unless your families are hoping for a nice big wedding for you both, you should just skip it all together and elope. It’s what my wife and I did, and we haven’t regretted it for a minute!”

Before Phil could even try to make a response to that, Clint’s arms were around his waist, and a solid, compact body was pressing into Phil’s side. The woman only seemed to grin all the brighter when Clint dropped his head to Phil’s shoulder and smiled shyly at her. “I’m holding out for a real wedding. I want the chance to watch his family squirm in their seats, you know?”

Truthfully, Phil’s extended family probably would squirm if he ever married a man. Not like they’d be invited to this fantasy wedding, but still. He swallowed thickly and bringing up his best, shy smile, kissed the top of Clint’s head before looking back to the woman.

“Besides, no way I’d pass up the chance to get this guy in a tailored suit.” Phil smirked and winked, holding up the pamphlet. “Thank you very much for the sample. We have your info.”

Phil pulled them away from the table and on to the next, ignoring the feeling he was being watched. He didn’t have to see Clint to know that his eyes were studying Phil just as closely as they did any briefing packet. It was a little unnerving to be scrutinized that intensely and Phil was just getting ready to turn and demand to know what Clint found so fascinating about him when he found himself being pulled in for a nose-smashing kiss.

His eyes flew wide in surprise as Clint pressed their mouths together, right there in the middle of the aisle, surrounded by hundreds of total strangers. When he felt the tip of Clint’s tongue prod along the seam of his lips, Phil’s heart jumped clear to his throat and he wanted to moan, melt, step into the kiss and pull Clint flush against him and never let go. Instead, Phil was frozen in place, and gave the most pathetic little whimper when he felt Clint lick at the corner of his mouth and pull back slowly.

It took a few seconds for Phil’s brain to come back online, for his heart to drop back down to his ribcage, and when he finally managed to blink his eyes open again – which he didn’t even know he’d closed in the first place – Clint was standing there staring at him in that unreadable way again. It still felt like it was scrutiny, but somehow something more than that, too. One blink was all it took though for Clint’s expression to shift back to smug confidence again.

“You had chocolate,” explained Clint, motioning to the corner of his own mouth. “Couldn’t let it go to waste.”

Phil quickly licked his lip and ducked his head, wiping at the corners of his mouth.

He was so very aware when Clint stepped into his space and leaned to whisper in his ear. “Besides, I bet Peter and Casper kiss food off each other’s mouths all the time. Just trying to stay in character.”

Character. Right. Their cover. Of course. Remember when Phil said Clint wasn’t exactly good at acting? Maybe he was better than Phil gave him credit for.

Clint’s arm wrapped around his waist again, and Phil almost wanted to break away when he felt fingers link through the belt loop on his jeans. He didn’t pull away though, because Phil is a professional dammit. He has been trained in how to do undercover missions, thank you very much, and he’s a grown ass man who should be able to handle the fact a very attractive man is hanging on him nearly twenty-four hours a day.

So he stayed right where he was. The whole rest of the time they walked around the expo (and really, there were only so many times they could walk around that room. Phil was pretty sure he was starting to memorize where each booth was located), he stayed right there with Clint’s arm wrapped around his waist. Besides that, who knew when the next time he’d get to experience something so surreal? Fine. So he was going to try and take advantage of it their last two days on the mission. Not like they were finding anything of value to begin with. And it wasn’t like he was going to take advantage of _Clint_. Phil would never do something like that. No, Phil was just going to finally take advantage of their cover.

If Clint was really going to play like they were a newly engaged couple, then maybe it was time for Phil to get with the program. He could do it. It wasn’t that big of a deal to pretend he was stupidly in love with Clint. Especially since it wasn’t even remotely a lie.

Which was exactly why Phil couldn’t do it. He wanted to be able to, but he couldn’t. Everything about this cover just hit too close to the mark for him.

~*~*~*~

“Coulson, c’mon! The boardwalk isn’t that far!” Clint stood in the middle of the sitting room, hands on his hips and looking every bit the part of a disgusted partner.

They’d gotten back to their room just a few minutes prior and Phil was feeling particularly intent on putting some distance between himself and Clint. Even while part of him still argued to just go with the flow and ham up the last two days of their mission, the more reasonable, _realistic_ , portion of his mind told him he was going to need all the time he could get to compartmentalize everything again.

So while Clint stood in the middle of the room, Phil took up position at the bedroom door. Arms folded over his chest and his best Agent Coulson blank mask in place, Phil quirked an eyebrow. “No one is stopping you from going, Barton. By all means, go to the boardwalk for dinner.”

Clint stared Phil down for a long few seconds, his hands flexing into fists at his side like he was trying to keep from hitting something, or someone. Phil let his shoulders drop finally, and pushed away from the door frame to head into the bedroom. If he stood there having a stare down with Clint, he was liable to make a fool of himself somehow. He’d been doing a damn good job of it so far, after all.

Phil heard Clint’s frustrated curse and the door open, and a second later slam shut. Good. He could get some time to think and get his damn heart back in order without---

“Fuck this!” Clint was suddenly at his side, grabbing hold of Phil’s arm and yanking him away from the open suitcase where Phil kept his laptop. “You’re going to the boardwalk with me, whether you like it or not!”

Phil barely had time to grab his key off the coffee table as he was dragged out the door.

~*~*~*~

In the end, Phil ultimately had no idea if they were out wandering around as themselves, or as Casper and Peter. It was impossible to tell. Clint kept close to him the entire time they were out walking, and when they finally settled on some little seafood joint to sit down at for dinner, Clint kept kicking Phil’s foot under the table. Though, that might have entirely been on accident. And Phil figured he could probably write off the way Clint would swat Phil’s hands away from the lobster tail Phil had ordered, because apparently Phil was eating it _all wrong_ , as Clint just being his usual dorky self.

Though, he had to admit it was nice to get out and just stroll along the boardwalk. Not have to really worry about things, even if his mind did keep drifting back to thoughts of “I wonder if there’s a sea monster in the water waiting to spring and blow our cover.”

Together they wandered in and out of shops, buying the occasional cheap kitschy trinket – “My Best Friend went to Florida and all I got was this crummy T-Shirt” for Fury from Phil, and a little Raggedy Ann statuette for Natasha from Clint – and making up stories about the people that they passed by. It was surprisingly nice and relaxing once Phil let himself relax. For that little while, it was like they were just out spending time together like they usually would after missions.

“So, I gotta ask,” Clint said around a mouthful of chocolate and cookie dough gelato. They’d found the little gelato place tucked just far enough out of the line of sight, but not so far off the beaten path that they didn’t get any business, and Phil was glad that they had. It was a nice way to end out their night.

Humming in acknowledgment, Phil took another quick lick at the side of his waffle cone to catch a stray drip of raspberry. “Well, then I suppose I need to let you.”

Clint huffed and shook his head, shoving another spoonful into his mouth. “Smartass.” He mumbled before waving his spoon in the air and shaking his head. “No. The rumors around HQ. How many are actually true?”

That had Phil blinking in surprise, and distracted him enough he nearly lost the chocolate part of his chocolate-raspberry double scoop waffle cone. Clint had been smart getting his in a dish. Phil couldn’t pass up a waffle cone though, and they both knew it.

“Really, Barton?” Phil finally asked, quickly trying to save the chocolate before it all melted down the side. It was a messy treat in the humid Florida air, but delicious just the same. “We’ve been friends and partners how long now, and you’re still wondering about what the rumor mill has to say about me?”

“Not all of it. I mean, I know you’re not a robot, but I’m not quite sold on the idea that you weren’t really grown in a secret lab under Fury’s office or something,” Clint teased, licking his spoon clean before digging into the dish for more. “And I know you really need more than just a paperclip, rubber band, and pickle to kill a man.”

Phil barked out a small laugh at that. “A pickle?”

Clint nodded, spoon dangling out of his mouth. “Mmhmm.” He hummed before taking the spoon out. “You hadn’t heard that one?”

“No. I hadn’t. That one’s interesting.” Phil was going to have to remember that one. He supposed it could be possible to kill a man with those three things, but, he’d have to think of a good way to make it work. He kept thinking about it while Clint continued talking.

“But what I wanna know, is if the rumor going around about you being secretly loaded is true.”

Phil tripped over his feet, the scoop of chocolate falling over the side of the cone and onto the boards beneath them. He stared down at the lump in front of him that had once been the best scoop of chocolate gelato he’d ever tasted, that was quickly becoming a puddle of goop, and actually felt his bottom lip protrude in a pout. From beside him, he heard Clint’s quiet “Aww, gelato, no…” and blinked when half of what Clint had left in his dish plopped into the empty spot on his cone.

He looked up, ready to protest it, but Clint was already back to talking.

“So, c’mon, is it true? Are you secretly loaded and just doin’ the whole SHIELD thing to fend off boredom?”

Taking a deep breath, Phil stepped over his dropped scoop and continued walking. “What makes you think I am?”

Clint huffed and shook his head. “You don’t exactly give much proof otherwise. I mean,” he paused, spoon hand raised to start counting things off on his fingers, “you have a collection of suits that are all custom tailored and you go through ‘em like there’s no tomorrow, some days. And the spares you have in your office closet are Dolce & Gabbana. Your shoes are all real Italian leather. And I know for a fact your sunglasses alone are like four hundred bucks a pair. You’re either loaded, or _you’ve_ got a sugar daddy.”

Clint trailed off, his eyes suddenly going comically wide. “Please God, don’t tell me Fury’s your sugar daddy.”

“ _What?_ ” Phil hadn’t heard his voice jump and crack that much on one single word since he went through puberty. He whipped his head around to look at Clint so fast he felt his neck pop in about four places. The absurdity of it, and the way the color had drained from Clint’s face had Phil suddenly laughing so hard, he nearly dropped his entire cone to the ground.

His sides were hurting by the time they stepped into the hotel lobby, and he had to just toss his cone out. There was no eating it now, and it was a melted drippy mess anyway. When they stepped into the elevator, Phil was finally able to get his senses back enough to answer Clint, in between licks to get the sticky dessert off his fingers.

“In no way, shape, or form,” Phil paused to lick at the side of his index finger, “has Nick Fury ever been, nor will he ever be, my _sugar daddy_.” He almost didn’t make it through that sentence with a straight face. “And I beg you never to even think about suggesting that again.”

Clint nodded quickly, hands raised in surrender. “I need brain bleach just to get the thought out of my head. Believe me, I’ll never bring it up again.”

Nodding and giving up on getting his hand cleaned any time soon, Phil leaned back against the wall of the elevator and took a deep breath. He needed it after all that laughing. As the doors pinged for their floor and opened, Phil stepped out to follow Clint down the hall to their room.

“In answer to your question though,” He said once Clint got the door open and they were safely inside. “I do have money, yes.”

“Loaded?” Clint asked again, a smirk playing on his lips.

Phil sighed and shrugged. “You decide. You’ve seen how many suits I own. And apparently know how much my sunglasses cost.”

“Do you have a Bugatti?”

Phil’s face scrunched in confusion. “Do I _look_ like I would own a Bugatti?”

Clint shrugged and moved for the bedroom to toss their bag of trinkets into his duffel. “Given the number of custom tailored suits you own, I’d have to say yes.” He answered with another shrug and glance over his shoulder to Phil as Phil walked into the room. “I bet Peter Hargrove owns a Bugatti. _I bet_ he bought one for Casper, too. So they can race down the Autobahn together.”

“I bet,” Phil countered, “Casper is slightly delusional if he thinks Peter would buy him that nice of a car just so they could race like idiots down the Autobahn. Besides, if Peter takes Casper anywhere in Germany, it’s to his family’s home in the outskirts of Frankfurt.”

“I didn’t think Hargrove was a German last name,” Clint grabbed up his sleep pants and a T-shirt and started for the bathroom.

“Funnily enough, like so many people in the world, I imagine he had a father _and_ a mother.” Phil quipped back.

Their easy banter bounced off each other like rubber balls. It was one thing that drove so many other assets and specialists nuts whenever they worked with Coulson and Barton. The banter that never quite made sense to those on the outside.

Clint poked his head back out of the bathroom and stared Coulson down for a moment. “Are _you_ German?”

“Part.” Phil answered back quickly. “My dad was Scottish/Irish and my mother was mostly German.”

“Which side won out on you?”

Phil quirked a smile and tilted his head a bit in thought. “Freckles, translucent skin that burns almost instantly in the sunlight. Verses dark hair, blue eyes, fluent in German and a near Pavlovian response to German potato salad. Hmmm…”

A towel landed on his head and Phil laughed softly as he dropped it down onto the bed. He quickly changed into his own sleep clothes while Clint was finishing up in the bathroom, and had just set his laptop down on the mattress when Clint stepped out into the bedroom again.

“So, if you’re part German,” Clint moved to toss that days clothes into his duffel, “and you’re loaded, do _you_ have a family home in Germany?”

Phil rolled his eyes, but the fond smile never left his face as he shook his head. “Not that I know of. Peter’s family home is very nice though. Lots of land and trees, horses. Very remote and private.”

Clint nodded in approval. “I think Casper would like it there. They should move there after the wedding. Peter can spoil him rotten with lots of delicious chocolates and treats.”

“What makes Casper think he’s gonna be a kept man? Peter works for a living, Casper should at least do a little side job or something.” Phil said, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t want Casper turning into one of those spoiled old biddies that just sits around bitching about everything.”

“Oh, I’m sure Casper could think of _something_ to do as a side job,” Clint smirked, wiggling his eyebrows and he stepped closer to the bed. “He’s good with his hands. I bet he could do a lot of odd jobs to keep busy. So long as Peter never turned into one of those grumpy old bastards, sitting alone in his study smoking a pipe, writing his memoirs and counting his pennies like Scrooge McDuck.”

Phil laughed softly, shaking his head again at Clint’s ridiculousness. “Scrooge McDuck?”

“Aych, aye. Scrooge McDuck. Richest duck in the world,” answered Clint, in his best impersonation of the cartoon character he could do. Which, wasn’t all that good.

Turning to face Clint, Phil smiled all the more. “I think that was supposed to be Scottish, but I’m not entirely sure. And if it was Scottish then…it’s…” Phil’s sentence trailed off.

When the hell had Clint gotten so close to him? He was close enough that Phil could feel the warmth from Clint’s body between them. Phil could count the different colors rotating through Clint’s eyes and he stood motionless as Clint’s gaze dropped down to Phil’s lips again. This time Phil _knew_ he didn’t still have chocolate on his mouth. Still, he licked his lips just in case and felt his heart screech to a halt when Clint’s eyes tracked the motion of his tongue.

Phil’s eyes half closed on their own when Clint leaned forward just a fraction of an inch. His breath caught in his chest when he felt Clint’s minty cool breath brush over his lips. Phil’s fingers itched at his sides, wanting to reach out and pull Clint in that last little bit, sink his hands into that thick hair and see if it was as soft as it always looked like it would be.

“Clint…”

The word was barely a whisper. Phil hadn’t even realized he’d murmured it like a quiet, single word prayer.

Not until he got a quiet and frantic curse in return, and a cold chill through his whole body as Clint quickly scrambled back, out of Phil’s personal space. Whatever was about to happen, for whatever reason, Phil had ruined by letting Clint’s name slip out. Maybe Clint had gotten caught up pretending to be Peter and Casper. Maybe Casper would cut Peter off during banters with sneak attack kisses.

Phil probably would never know what the hell just happened. Clint bolted from the suite so fast he might as well have left vapor trails. Phil felt his entire body slump down onto the bed, and all the easy happiness he’d let seep in during his time out with Clint melted like his scoop of gelato on the boardwalk.

No. Of course Clint would never want Phil the way Casper apparently wanted Peter.

~*~*~*~

Clint didn’t sleep in the bedroom that night. In fact, Phil wasn’t sure what time Clint finally slunk back into their suite to sleep on the couch, but that was where he found him the next morning. Curled up on his side, facing the back cushions, sound asleep.

Phil left him there while he went down for another swim in the pool, followed by a treadmill jog, and shower. So he didn’t have angry baby duck hair when he went back up to the room. Clint was awake, showered and dressed by the time Phil got back. Neither of them spoke, in fact, they hardly made eye contact unless it was absolutely necessary.

Their time spent at the expo was even tenser. They walked side by side, but not touching. Never saying a word the entire time they were there. Phil didn’t know about Clint, but he knew he himself couldn’t focus on a single thing, and if he walked past the booth for the specialty shop that claimed to be ranked number one for outfitting stylish same-sex weddings one more time, he was probably going to throw something.

To add insult to injury, a rowdy bachelorette group slammed into him from behind while he was attempting to clean his glasses and not only spilled their drinks down his back, but made him drop – and step on – his glasses. The mission might as well have been done with right then and there. They couldn’t scan faces anymore, not like it was doing them any good, and Phil couldn’t read what was under his nose anymore, let alone distinctly make out faces.

Clint made himself scarce when they got back to the hotel. Which was just fine by Phil. Clint was making it very obvious just how much he didn’t want to be around Phil, and how big of a mistake he thought he made by nearly kissing him. And yeah, Phil had to wonder just what Clint was thinking that would drive him to such stupidity. _Phil_ wouldn’t even kiss Phil.

Phil showered and changed for bed, pulling out his backup pair of glasses from his suitcase – an incredibly older, wire framed pair he carried with him on ops just in case anything happened to his regular pair – and settled into the bed with his laptop to try and get some work done. Namely order a new pair of glasses. He’d have to wear contacts around HQ for a while, but that should be okay, he could handle it. He really only wore his glasses when he absolutely needed to anyway.

He was still sitting up on the bed, computer in his lap, when Clint came into the room and went straight for the bathroom. Phil sighed heavily. Yeah, he’d fucked up good this time. He watched just over the brim of his glasses as Clint walked out of the bathroom, glanced at him, and then glanced again in surprise.

Phil slowly raised his head, features schooled into a bland not-quite-scowl. “Something wrong, Agent Barton?”

Clint blinked and shook his head. “No, sir. Just…not used to those glasses. They threw me.”

Phil took the wire framed glasses off and frowned. If he hadn’t hated them enough before, he certainly did now. “They’re my backups. Need to be able to see in order to email Fury and let him know this mission is a bust.” He paused to put them back on and look back at the response he’d been reading. “We check out tomorrow at 0800. Extraction flight back to base from the airport at 0930.”

Clint nodded, grabbed a small bag from his duffel and slipped back into the bathroom without a word.

When the water turned on in the shower, Phil made sure he buried himself so deep in his work that he didn’t have time to think about Clint. And especially not about Clint showering. His plan worked maybe a little too well. He was three pages into his report about the mission so far when Clint finally came out of the bathroom again.

Phil glanced up only briefly before looking back down to his screen. He paused, eyes wide, and looked back up again to make sure he hadn’t been imagining things. No, Clint really was standing at his duffel bag, a pair of small, stylish, wire framed glasses of his own perched on his nose, and what looked like a small contacts container in hand.

He didn’t realize he was staring until Clint turned his own scowl on Phil.

“What?”

Phil quickly shook his head, no doubt mimicking Clint’s exact expression from just a few minutes before. “Nothing. I just…didn’t know you wore glasses. There’s nothing in any of your files saying you needed them.”

Clint shrugged and grabbed his phone from the charger on the chest of drawers. “I’m farsighted. Can’t see if it isn’t at least three feet away. Wear contacts most of the time.”

“Why aren’t you wearing them now?” Phil really didn’t mean for the question to come out sounding like an interrogation question, it just sort of happened.

“Last pair and I dropped one down the drain. Sorta hafta wear these things now.” Clint mumbled, knuckle-nudging the glasses back up his nose before turning to head back out to the living room silently.

Lips pressed together, Phil gave a silent nod to an empty room. He closed his laptop and got up to set it in his suitcase. Most everything was already packed and ready to go. Just a change of clothes for the morning and what he had on was left out. Even though it was obvious Clint wasn’t going to sleep in the room again, Phil made sure the sliding doors were open before he turned the lights off and climbed into bed.

~*~*~*~

Phil woke sometime later to the gentle roll of thunder across the water. A flash of lightning lit the room in a pale silvery-purple glow before plunging it back into darkness. Rain was just starting to pitter-patter against the balcony and a cool gust of air swept a mist into the room and across Phil’s face. He blinked a couple of times and frowned, carefully pushing himself out of bed to go close the doors and make sure the windows in the sitting room were shut.

“Don’t…”

The voice behind him startled Phil and he spun, ready to attack if need be. Behind the headboard, another bolt of lightning skittered across the sky and threw the room into a flash of brightness. Just enough for Phil to see that Clint had come back into the room and was laying curled up, facing him, under the sheet.

“The carpet’s going to get wet if I don’t—“

Clint shook his head. “Throw a few towels on the floor in the morning. Just…leave it open. Please?”

The scent of the fresh rain mixed with the faint salty smell of the ocean, and burnt ozone from the lightening was nice to wake up to; and the cool breeze felt a thousand times better than the sticky humidity that had been in the air when Phil went to bed. If Clint wanted the doors to stay open, Phil would leave them open.

Phil did throw every towel from the bathroom onto the floor, though, before he crawled back into bed. Clint’s eyes were closed, but Phil could tell by the way Clint was laying and breathing that he was far from asleep. His closed eyes made it clear that Clint didn’t want to talk though, so Phil wasn’t even going to try. Phil was too tired to talk anyway. It was barely two-thirty in the morning, he’d only been asleep two hours.

Rolling onto his side, it didn’t take Phil long at all to start to drift back off to sleep. The thunderstorm and waves a pleasant and relaxing lullaby. And he may have imagined it, or maybe dreamed it as he fell back into his slumber, but Phil could have sworn he felt a hand stroke down the back of his head, across his neck, and finally gently twist into the fabric of his shirt.

It was probably just a dream.

~*~*~*~

“So the whole thing was a bust, huh?”

Phil glanced up from his computer when he heard Fury step into his office and start talking. The last thing Phil wanted to do was talk about the mission. “Bust” didn’t even begin to describe it. Mentally, Phil rolled his eyes and looked back to what he was working on.

“If you’d waited in your office another ten minutes, you’d have my full report on it.” Phil answered, pushing his wire framed glasses up his nose again. Had he mentioned lately how much he hated those things?

Fury stood in front of Phil’s desk, arms folded over his chest and a blank stare on his face. Phil didn’t even break stride across his keyboard. He and Fury had been friends for a long, long time; he knew that Nick was standing there staring him down. Why, though, was anyone’s guess.

Just when it seemed like Fury was going to just stand there and stare Phil down, Fury dropped his arms and sighed as he fell into the chair across from Phil’s desk. “Dammit, Coulson,” Fury mumbled. “A report won’t be necessary.”

Phil stopped typing then, blinked at his screen and then at his friend. “Excuse me?”

“Your report,” Fury waved a hand at the computer flippantly. “It’s not necessary to write a report because there’s nothing to report. It wasn’t a mission.”

Confusion crossed all over Phil’s face at that. Not a mission? “But, we had an objective. We were supposed to find—“

“It was a made up objective.” Fury pushed himself out of the chair and stood in front of Phil again. “ _I_ sent you and Barton on that trip to Florida, under the disguise of an undercover mission, in hopes that if I made you two play house and pretend to be a couple, that one – or both – of you would finally get your head out of your ass and do something about your fucking pining.”

Phil reached to tug his back up glasses off and leveled Fury with the best murderous glare he could muster. Of all the low down, dirty rotten, no good, jackass-ish things to do! And Phil dared to call Fury his friend! HA!

“What about my glasses?” Phil asked, waving his wire framed ones in the air a bit.

“What about ‘em?”

Phil pressed his lips together in a tight line and leaned forward on his desk. “You had my regular glasses fixed so that they would scan faces and send the info back here. To you.”

Fury barked out a laugh that sent a few junior agents walking by Phil’s office running when they heard it. A cold weight settled in Phil’s stomach and he sat back in his chair.

“They were never set to scan faces, were they?”

There was a smug smirk on Fury’s face as he shook his head that Phil would have loved to have punched right off. Well good. Now Phil wouldn’t feel bad for sending the bill for his new ones (which he’ll just go right ahead and change the shipping from standard to overnight) right to Fury’s front door.

“Coulson,” Fury half laughed, leaning his hands down on Phil’s desk. “I have done everything short of locking you two in a broom closet and telling you you’ve got seven minutes to get your fucking feelings worked out, before I throw you both over the edge of the helicarrier. And believe me, I’ve thought of doing it.”

Disbelief. Confusion. Anger. Despair. Phil felt all those things flash across his face as he stared up at Fury. How could his own friend do that to him? Of course Fury knew that Phil was hopeless over Clint, but to stoop so low as to purposely make up a mission just to get them alone together was just plain deceitful!

“You created a fake mission, misused SHIELD funding –“

“I didn’t misuse SHIELD funding,” Fury protested, cutting Phil off mid-sentence. “I didn’t use SHIELD funds at all. I used my own.”

Phil ignored that to keep going with his own thoughts. “—to send me and Agent Barton to Florida just in the hopes of…what, exactly? In hopes that I’d get laid or something? How exactly was that supposed to work, when Barton isn’t even remotely interested in me?”

Just then, a hesitant knock came from the door, followed by a quiet throat-clearing cough. Phil leaned around Fury at the same time Fury turned to look over his shoulder.

It was a well-known fact that Agent Coulson did _not_ blush.

 _Phil_ Coulson, on the other hand, turned bubblegum pink from his chest to his ears. Which Phil suspected was exactly what he was doing right then, if Fury’s smirk and chuckle were anything to go off of.

Standing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of worn jeans, a thin blue shirt with an unzipped grey hoodie over top, was Clint. He shuffled and scuffed his boots on the floor as he glanced between Fury and Phil awkwardly for a moment. Carefully clutched in his left hand was a cluster of paper that Phil dreaded to think about.

“Uh, sorry,” Clint cleared his throat again and stepped into the office. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” His eyes darted to meet Phil’s for just a second before shooting away again, shoulders going square as he stepped in front of Fury. “I went to drop this off in your office, sir, and Hill told me to just bring it to you here. It’s my report of the mission.”

Fury looked at the papers for a minute before taking them and starting for the door. “Seven minutes, Coulson.” He called over his shoulder before closing the door behind him, leaving them alone and silent in Phil’s office.

Neither Phil nor Clint said anything once the door clicked shut. In fact, Clint wasn’t even looking at Phil. Which, to Phil, only reaffirmed the fact that Clint wasn’t interested in him. And honestly, that really hurt a lot more than it should.

Taking a deep breath, Phil slipped his glasses back on and looked back to his computer screen. “Was there something you needed, Agent Barton?”

Clint cleared his throat again before answering. “You’re wrong.”

Phil’s fingers paused over the keys. “Wrong?” He asked. “Wrong about what?”

“About what you told Fury,” Clint finally looked up and met Phil’s eyes.

The cold weight in the pit of Phil’s stomach doubled in size, and he slowly settled himself back in his chair. He held Clint’s stare for a moment, then took off his glasses, tossing them onto his desk. This was not going to go well. He could tell already.

“To which part are you referring?”

Clint shrugged one shoulder and glanced off towards Phil’s bookcase. “The last part,” He answered quietly, still staring at the books and trinkets that were scattered about. “About me not being interested in you.”

Phil’s jaw did not drop, thank you very much, but it was a damn close call. Suddenly this was going in absolutely no way like he thought it was going to go. Of course, that didn’t mean it was going to end well, because, well, it was him after all. He was forever single for a number of reasons; one of which being that he was kind of bad at relationships.

Clearing his throat, Phil sat up just a bit straighter in his chair. “I’m sorry?”

Clint sighed heavily and ran a hand up through his hair before looking back to Phil. “You’re kind of clueless and I’m not exactly the best at letting people know I’m actually interested in them. But I am. Interested, I mean. In you.”

Okay, maybe Phil’s jaw did drop. A little. “Since when?”

“Since always, probably,” Clint shrugged again, turning on his heel to start pacing the room. “I don’t know. I mean, Jesus, Natasha figured out I wanted to sleep with you ten minutes after she first saw us together, and she figured out I was completely in love with you after two months.” Clint stopped pacing and spun back to wave a hand towards Phil. “And you and me had already been working together for three years by then! She figured it out before I even let myself admit it!”

The air in Phil’s office suddenly got very thin. Phil half wanted to look around for a hidden camera, and he was waiting for Jasper to jump out of somewhere to laugh at him and prove this was all a joke. It had to be a joke, right? There was no way in hell that Clint was in love with him.

“It’s not a joke.” Clint’s face was stoic as ever and his arms folded over his chest. “And why is it so hard to believe that I’m in love with you? Besides the obvious fact that you’re so far out of my league it’s not even funny.”

“…I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud,” Phil muttered to himself before shaking his head and standing up. His chair gently knocking into the wall behind him. “I’m not…what makes you think it’s not the other way around?” He finally asked. “Why in the world would someone as gorgeous and talented as you want someone like me? I mean, why me?”

Clint stared wide eyed at Phil before swallowing thickly. “Why not you?”

“Because,” Phil choked out, throat suddenly going dry. “Because I’m –“

“Smart?” Clint asked, taking a step closer to Phil. “Have humor so dry it makes Death Valley look like an ocean most days?” Another step. Phil shifted from foot to foot, but didn’t move. “Gorgeous? Talented? Kind? Patient?”

They were standing almost nose to nose, close enough again that Phil felt Clint’s breath across his lips and could count the colors in his eyes. This is where it all fell apart last time. The weight in Phil’s stomach twisted and turned, and he had to grip the side of the desk just to keep from stepping back or crumbling to the floor.

“I swear to you, Coulson… _Phil_ …” Clint let Phil’s name drop between them in a way that made Phil whimper quietly, and thank God that Fury closed his door when he left. Clint stepped all the closer, one hand coming to rest on Phil’s hip. “That whatever reasons you have cooked up in your brain for why I couldn’t or shouldn’t be attracted to you, are probably all things I already love about you. And have for years.”

Phil glanced to Clint’s lips before darting back up to his eyes. “The other night,” He mumbled, “At the hotel. You were going to kiss me, but ran when I said your name. I thought…you realized what you were doing, and what a mistake it was, or something.”

Clint huffed and glanced away just for a second before he moved in so that there was barely an inch of space left between them. “I thought you were saying my name to get my attention and make me stop.” He confessed, shaking his head. “Phil, I’d been laying it on thick the whole mission. I figured it was the only chance I had, and Nat told me if I didn’t at least try to make a move on you, she was going to geld me.”

Phil’s hands clutched around soft fabric, and when the hell had he taken hold of Clint’s arms?

“So, you mean all those touches? And that kiss to get the chocolate off my mouth…?”

Pink rose up the tips of Clint’s ears as he nodded and ducked his head. “Those were all me. I had to at least try. You kept being so awkward though, I figured you were hating every minute of –“

It was Phil’s turn to pull Clint in for a nose-smashing kiss. This time, no chocolate was involved. He kissed Clint deeply, with everything he had. It still felt like the floor was going to go out from under him at any second, but he would take it for as long as he could. Phil furrowed his brow and groaned quietly when Clint slotted their bodies together, and he finally got to find out just how soft and thick Clint’s hair really was. It was heavenly.

Phil pulled back only after it became necessary to breathe again. He felt Clint’s quiet laugh against his lips as they pressed their foreheads together and just stood there in each other’s space. Phil’s arms were around Clint’s shoulders, one hand buried deep in his hair, and he prayed the moment never had to end.

“Have dinner with me,” Phil whispered, nudging his nose against Clint’s gently as he leaned in for another soft kiss. “Please?”

Clint’s arms tightened around Phil’s waist as he nodded. “Can we go to Greece for real Mediterranean food? On your private jet?”

Phil laughed against Clint’s lips before pulling back again to pick his glasses up off the desk. Slipping his arm around Clint’s waist to lead him towards the door, Phil pressed another kiss to Clint’s head. “I don’t have a private jet.”

“Seriously, Phil. You claim to be loaded but you don’t have a Bugatti or a private jet.” Clint slipped his own arm back around Phil’s waist as he was pulled into the hallway. “What good is being loaded if you don’t have a Bugatti or a private jet?”

“It has its perks,” Phil quipped. “Keeps me stocked in custom tailored suits for one thing.”

As Clint’s laughter bounced off the walls of the hallway, Phil decided maybe Fury didn’t have to die after all. It was possible Clint would come to his senses later, and realize how much better he could do than a middle-aged, slightly balding Level Seven agent, but for now, Clint was in his arms. And if it hadn’t been for Nick Fury’s meddling, Phil would still be sitting in his office pining away.

Maybe Phil could send Fury a nice thank you card if things worked out with Clint the way he hoped they would.

 

 


End file.
